


you're the apple to my pie

by daisysusan



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Road Trip, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisysusan/pseuds/daisysusan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in the middle of nowhere in British Columbia, Taylor says, "We should get married."</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're the apple to my pie

**Author's Note:**

> There's a soundtrack to this, which you can listen to [here](http://8tracks.com/sketchingbirds/you-re-the-apple-to-my-pie). Many many thanks to [mistfarer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mistfarer) for the lovely art! The title is from the song Perfect Two, which is helpfully on the linked mix.
> 
> Thanks [doctor_denmark](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_denmark) and especially [salvamisandwich](http://archiveofourown.org/users/salvamisandwich) for their lovely beta work, and of course to everyone who encouraged and enabled during the writing process.

Worlds ends ugly and too soon, a new pain in the same place as an old injury, and then Jordan is back in Canada with Taylor. They ought to split up to visit their respective families, but they don't. Taylor comes to Calgary with him, pretends to sleep in the guest room, plays street hockey with Jordan’s siblings, and chats politely with Jordan's mother while she gives them cooking lessons. It's nice—nicer than it would have been without him there by a long shot.

There's not very much for them to do, though, even with conditioning and cooking lessons and the hundreds of little tasks that always seem to crop up in a crowded house. They mostly spend their days playing video games and ignoring all the analysis and speculation about who's going to be on the trading block this summer. Jordan knows his name has come up in conversations, and he knows the reasons people think he should be traded and the reasons people think he shouldn't, but that doesn't mean he wants to think about it.

For all that he tries not to, it sneaks in a few times. He thinks about Sam, too, and sometimes that spirals into thinking about what it would be like to be across the continent from his best friend.

Just the thought of being that far from Taylor makes his stomach hurt.

\--

After a few weeks, Jordan realizes he's actually going to lose his mind. It’s easy to get lost in his own head here.

"Wanna go on a road trip?" he asks Taylor in the middle of their workout one day, because it's the first thing that comes to mind.

"Okay," Taylor says, with a slightly confused smile. "Where to?"

Jordan shrugs. “Wherever. Just to get away.” 

It doesn’t take them long to throw everything they need into a couple of bags, though Jordan’s mom is really skeptical that the two of them should be trusted to drive themselves around aimlessly for an unspecified amount of time. They convince her eventually, and then there’s a quick round of goodbye hugs, and he and Taylor climb into his car and drive off. 

Considering how easy it was to do, Jordan shouldn’t feel nearly as relieved as he does.

\--

Jordan drives toward Edmonton, mostly out of habit. It’s not a very interesting drive, it wouldn’t be even if he didn’t know it so well, but it’s kind of comforting. Like going home. 

Taylor makes a terrible playlist on Jordan’s iPod and sings along with every song on it. Jordan wishes he didn’t think it was endearing, but it’s not like there’s anything better for Taylor to do, since Jordan doesn’t need a navigator to drive in a straight line. 

At one point, Taylor rests his hand over Jordan's on the gear stick, and Jordan laces their fingers together. He has to pull away to change lanes, but he squeezes Taylor’s hand before he does. Taylor smiles at him, the smile that makes Jordan’s heart feel too tight, and goes back to singing badly. 

They don’t stop in Edmonton.

Taylor frowns at Jordan when he drives past their usual exit, and Jordan shrugs at him. “We don’t need anything from the house, do we?” he asks. Taylor shakes his head, and Jordan continues. “It would be weird, just us in that house.” 

Taylor’s silence is a little too pointed—oh, _right_. Whits. But the reason Jordan wanted to do this in the first place was to get away from all of that, so he says, “We’ll deal with that later,” and cranks the stereo. He also rests his hand on Taylor’s knee for as long as he can, and the reminder that he’s not in the car alone is nice. 

They’re not much more than an hour past Edmonton when they stop for the night, picking a hotel at random and booking a double room. There’s reckless and there’s _reckless_ , and their room is being paid for with a credit card that has JORDAN EBERLE stamped on it, even disregarding the proximity to Edmonton. 

In the end, they use both beds anyway, crawling out of the sweat- and come-covered sheets to drop heavily onto clean ones and pass out almost immediately. 

The next morning, they eat at the hotel breakfast buffet, and Taylor whines until Jordan points out that it’s better than anything they would make for themselves. “Not as good as your mom’s breakfast,” Taylor says, but he stops talking about the cold eggs and asks Jordan where they’re going instead. 

Jordan shrugs, because he honestly didn’t plan at all. “The mountains? The drive will be pretty. And we can go golfing.” 

Taylor smiles broadly. “Sounds good.” 

\--

They drive all day, eating lunch in a place called Dawson Creek, which makes them both giggle. After lunch, Jordan hands Taylor the keys and tells him to drive. It’s nice, just sitting in the front seat and fiddling with his iPod for hours on end. The drive through the mountains is pretty, as expected, but Jordan finds himself dozing off anyway. 

It doesn’t really make any sense, because nothing has actually changed since they threw their bags into his truck, but it feels like there aren’t as many things to worry about when he’s half-asleep in his car with Taylor driving. Somehow, it’s easier to not think about the threat of summer trades and the playoffs they still haven’t managed to claw their way into and his shot ringing off a goal post in Sweden like a gong announcing their loss. 

“Stop thinking so much,” Taylor says, soft and without taking his eyes off the road. 

“I wasn’t,” Jordan starts, but he cuts himself off. “Okay.” 

Asking Taylor how he knew feels weird, so he doesn’t do it, but Taylor keeps talking anyway. “Your face gets all weird and pinched when you’re worrying. Like, weirder than usual.”

Jordan punches him in the shoulder, but not very hard because he doesn’t want to accidentally make Taylor crash his car. He can’t put his head on Taylor’s shoulder, which sucks a bit, but he can wrap his hand around the back of Taylor’s neck and leave it there. It’s still comforting. 

It doesn’t take them long to get through the mountains, and with the loss of the nice scenery, the drive gets a lot more boring. It’s barely early evening when they pull off the highway to drive a little ways to a town with two hotels, a golf course, and not much else. 

The room goes on Taylor’s credit card this time, and they spend the next morning golfing with rented clubs, looking out at the mountains and occasionally trying to tackle each other into the sand pit. It’s hard to keep from kissing Taylor when he’s laughing at Jordan’s attempts to get his ball out of the rough. 

They do make out in the room after, when they ought to be checking out. It’s just so easy to let Taylor tackle him to the unused bed and seal their mouths together, trading lazy kisses until Jordan’s mouth is buzzing and he can’t remember what time it is. 

“We need to check out,” he says, pulling back just enough to form words. 

“Mmm,” Taylor says, leaning in to kiss him quickly. “All they’ll do is charge us for another night, and we can afford it.” 

Jordan probably ought to argue that more, but it’s hard to come up with reasons and motivation when Taylor’s sliding his lips over Jordan’s jaw to nip at the skin under his ear. His protest comes out as more of a shaky moan, and Taylor clearly takes that for the encouragement it is, because his hand is sliding dangerously down Jordan’s stomach toward his not uninterested dick. 

Well, they’re definitely going to need to shower after this, which means getting out of the room by check out time is a dream. At least there’s nothing stopping Jordan from rolling them over and crawling down between Taylor’s legs to mouth at his dick through his jeans. Taylor whines high in his throat at the contact, pushing his hips up against Jordan’s arm flung across them. 

Settling back on his knees, Jordan makes quick work of Taylor’s jeans and boxers. Taylor’s hard, his dick curved up against his stomach, red and familiar and more than a bit tantalizing. 

The best thing about sucking Taylor off is his reactions, the way he goes breathy and incoherent, letting out squeaky moans that should be ridiculous but that Jordan mostly finds ridiculously hot. The first touch of his lips to the tip of Taylor’s dick earns him one, and all Jordan can think is that he must be so far gone on Taylor to think it’s even remotely sexy. 

(He’s really, _really_ gone.)

It’s not an especially impressive blowjob, just sloppy tongue and lips and probably too much spit. He’s jerking the base in time with his mouth; he could take Taylor in deeper but it takes him a long time to work up to it and he doesn’t have the patience right now. Besides, Taylor is writhing and making his dumb-hot noises and Jordan is achingly, painfully into it. 

He’s done this so many times now that it doesn’t take him long to bring Taylor off. Taylor shakes, nearly whimpering when Jordan swallows him down, and then shakily hauls him up into a kiss. Taylor’s too gone for it to be anything more than a slick, loose press of lips, but Jordan doesn’t care much. He can rub against Taylor’s hip and feel the words Taylor’s muttering against his lips, a mantra of “fuck, Ebby, that was so good, Jesus, I love you” that he’s heard more times than he can count but will never get sick of. 

He comes with his forehead resting against Taylor’s, and Taylor’s hand on his ass pulling him in. They kiss for a long moment afterward, until Jordan has to break away to breathe. 

“I love you,” he whispers against Taylor’s mouth when he does, and then he climbs out of the bed to take a shower, still a little shaky from his orgasm. 

“Ebby,” Taylor whines, not bothering to follow it up with anything else. It’s a plea for Jordan to come back to bed, and he’s so tempted. But he doesn’t want to spend another night here; there’s something soothing about being in the car with nothing and no one but Taylor. 

“Come shower with me,” Jordan says. Taylor groans but gets out of the bed, wrapping his arms around Jordan’s waist and trailing him into the bathroom, stumbling as they go. 

\--

They don’t drive far that day, because they got a late start and waste more time eating lunch at a diner on the edges of the town that’s mostly a golf course. They don’t hold hands over the table, but it takes a lot of effort on Jordan’s part to stop himself reaching out and lacing their fingers together. 

The drive is extra quiet, less chatter from Taylor than usual, and Jordan would miss it except he’s linked their hands together instead. Every so often, Taylor tightens his grip, like it’s a reminder to Jordan that he’s there, and it makes Jordan’s heart twist. In a good way, because it’s the best feeling in the world to have Taylor next to him, but also in a less good way, because he wishes they could have done this in the restaurant. 

Jordan swallows the feelings down and lets himself bask in the comfort of having Taylor next to him. He wouldn’t trade this for anything, the rest is just icing on the cake. 

That night, they stay in a hotel that’s even nicer than the ones they stay in on road trips. They get a double room, even though Taylor’s clearly eying the pictures of the king beds and Jordan is more than a little tempted by the idea of having that much space to spread Taylor out. The man at the desk is looking at them like he can’t decide whether or not to ask for an autograph, though, which means it’s not worth the risk. 

In the end, after a lazy dinner in the hotel restaurant and a few too many drinks—Jordan ordered a bottle of wine because it seemed like the thing to do, and they drank all of it and a second as well—they’re too tired to do anything but jerk each other off sleepily and fall asleep, curled together in the center of the bed. 

Jordan wakes up first, too warm where Taylor’s pressed against him and breathing into his neck. It’s easy enough to get out of the bed, because Taylor’s such a heavy sleeper he just just faceplants into the hollow Jordan left on the pillow and mumbles something in his sleep. 

The only thing they need to accomplish over the course of the day is getting to the next place likely to have a decent hotel; Jordan looks it up, and if they head into the mountains, there’s one about five hours away. It means he can take his time in the shower, unless Taylor wakes up and wants his turn. At home, he’d feel bad using all the hot water, but hotels seem to have an endless supply and besides, Taylor didn’t look like he was waking up any time soon. 

By the time Jordan gets out of the shower, his skin is red and his fingers are starting to wrinkle. Taylor’s still asleep, but they do actually need to leave at some point, so Jordan shakes him awake gently, kissing him on the forehead when he opens his eyes. Jordan gets dressed and plays around with the map on his phone while Taylor showers. 

Taylor’s quiet until he’s gotten a couple cups of coffee into him at the hotel restaurant, which Jordan expected, so he waits until then to bring up the plan for the day. He’s had vague plans for every day so far, just enough to ensure them having somewhere to sleep every night, but he feels like he ought to talk about today’s with Taylor. 

“Do you want to have a picnic today?” he asks, between bites of eggs. 

“Huh?” Taylor says. Maybe Jordan should have given the coffee longer to kick in. “Oh, um, sure?”

“There’s not really going to be anywhere to get lunch,” Jordan says with a small shrug. “And it seemed like it might be fun?”

“Okay,” Taylor says, smiling. He would probably agree to anything right now, but Jordan will take it. 

\--

That afternoon, somewhere in the middle of nowhere in British Columbia, Taylor says, "We should get married."

“What?” Jordan says, even though he means something more like _okay_ or maybe _that wasn’t very romantic_. 

Taylor shrugs, clearly second-guessing himself. “It seems like a good idea?”

Taylor wouldn’t know a good idea if it beat him around the head, but this might not be a terrible one.

Well, it probably will be, but Jordan’s having trouble convincing himself he doesn’t want to, because he would really like to be married to Taylor. It’s ridiculous and sappy but—well, he wants it. 

“Okay,” he says, and Taylor smiles so wide it looks painful. “When?”

“This summer?” Taylor’s mouth twists a little, like there’s reasons behind the suggestion that he’s not sharing. But honestly, it sounds nice. Permanent and secure and something they can hold on to. 

“Sure,” Jordan says. 

And that’s that, more or less. They just decided to get married. Jordan grins stupidly at Taylor, because he feels like he can’t help it, and Taylor grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. Jordan turns back to the road, but by the time he manages to stop smiling, his cheeks hurt. 

\--

It takes them a couple of tries to find a hotel with a vacancy, which doesn’t really surprise Jordan. Scenic towns in the mountains are pretty popular for vacations and, well, he can understand why. The view from the room they end up with is spectacular, and the hotel is kind of—incredible. It’s one of the nicest places Jordan’s ever seen, even if he gets barely any time to appreciate it. 

As soon as Taylor drops his bag next to one of the beds, he rounds on Jordan, pushing him against the wall to kiss him hard. Jordan gasps into the kiss, but he’s scrabbling his hands across Taylor’s back and pulling him as close as possible. He keeps remembering Taylor’s smile when he agreed they should get married, and it makes his chest feel too small for his heart. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, or even really what he’s feeling, just that he needs to be kissing Taylor and touching as much of him as possible. 

Jordan has leverage against the wall and he uses it, pushing Taylor away until they’re stumbling toward the near bed, tugging at each other’s clothes with fumbling hands. He’s got one hand on the small of Taylor’s back and he’s more focused on keeping that skin-to-skin contact than getting them both naked.

They tip onto the bed, Jordan straddling Taylor’s hips and kissing down his neck, leaving the type of marks he never has before. He sucks a red spot below Taylor’s ear, and another into the soft skin just above his collarbone, and he thinks, somewhere in the back of his mind, that maybe this is why people get rings when they married, that all the lines about commitment are bullshit and it’s just a way to be _possessive_. 

That actually sounds—kind of nice. 

In the meantime, Jordan sucks another hickey into Taylor’s skin, in the spot where his collarbone meets his shoulder. The skin is angry red when he pulls away, and he looks at it admiringly for a moment. Taylor reaches up to rub at it with his fingers and Jordan tries to remember how to breathe. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, and then Taylor is surging up to kiss him. 

\--

They order room service, because Jordan is flopped bonelessly on the bed and Taylor doesn’t look at all inclined to move either. It’s good food, even eaten in bed with the TV on. Or maybe it’s better that way, because it means neither of them has to do more than tug on a pair of boxers, and they can stay curled against each other. 

Jordan can’t seem to stop touching Taylor, and he’s getting the impression Taylor feels the same way. There’s a bite mark on Jordan’s hip, just above his boxers, and Taylor keeps pressing his thumb into it. It’s—fuck, it’s good, it makes Jordan want to push back, pin Taylor to the bed and bite a matching mark into his skin. Or let Taylor do that to him, put more marks on his body and—

Their plates end up piled hurriedly on the floor so that Taylor can straddle Jordan’s hips, hands buried in Jordan’s hair to kiss him. 

Jordan is really, _really_ glad he’s young. 

\--

According to the booklet of activities in the bedside table, there’s a lake nearby with good fishing, and according to the concierge, they can have the room for another night, so Taylor doesn’t exactly have to twist Jordan’s arm to get him to lounge around the next morning. Jordan’s got his phone out, spinning it in his hands while a website loads very slowly. Taylor’s drowsing against his shoulder, but clearly not asleep because he mumbles “What are you looking at?” into Jordan’s skin. 

“We’re not that far from Banff,” Jordan says. 

“Mmm, isn’t that the place where loads of people get married?”

“Yeah,” Jordan says, suddenly a little hesitant. What if he’s taking this too seriously? “I thought we could, you know, maybe—get married. There. Soon.” 

He can feel Taylor’s smile against his skin, and it loosens something in his chest. “Sounds great,” he says, a little slurred with sleep. But when he presses in closer to Jordan, he also drops a barely-there kiss to Jordan’s collarbone. A few minutes later, Jordan is attempting to scroll through the website of a mountain lodge that does weddings with his thumbs, and Taylor is snoring softly on his shoulder. 

Jordan orders room service for them again, and it wakes Taylor up when he moves him aside to get up. They end up eating on the bed anyway, leaning against the headboard with their ankles tangled together. 

While Taylor digs through his bag for a clean shirt—and ends up putting on one that looks suspiciously like a shirt Jordan dismissed as lost years ago—Jordan calls one of the hotel-wedding-resort-everything places he found online. He’s been to a couple of weddings in Banff, for friends and family friends, and he’s a bit surprised when they say they’ve had a few cancellations and there’s plenty of room. 

The receptionist asks him if he’s planning to use any of their other services, and, after a brief pause, he says, “My fiancé and I were hoping to get married.” 

“We can absolutely help you arrange that,” the receptionist says, sounding polite but a little bored. “Just let us know when you check in.” There’s a pause, and then she continues. “In the meantime, I’ll need your details to reserve the room, Mr—”

“Eberle,” Jordan says, and the moment he does, all the pieces of the big picture click together. His name is going to be on the marriage paperwork right next to Taylor’s, and they’re not even that far from Edmonton—and even closer to Calgary—and so many people are going to have access to all the forms they fill out. 

It doesn’t change anything, not really. The idea of looking Taylor in the eye and saying they shouldn’t get married makes him feel sick, but. There’s no way people won’t find out. And that’s a conversation they ought to have. Not that Jordan’s sure what to say, or what Taylor’s reaction will be, but he also can’t just spring that on him. Taylor’s good at a lot of things—well, he’s good at hockey, and making Jordan laugh, and good at being a bad loser at video games, and that’s more than enough for Jordan to be completely stupid over him—but talking about his feelings has never been his strongest point, and Jordan hasn’t pushed him on it. 

They’ve never really needed to before, but getting married is huge and serious, and so is everything that’s going to happen when people find out. He’ll be married to a teammate—and so will Taylor—and it’ll be news. A statement, and not just that he loves Taylor, even if that’s all they intend for it to be. 

Jordan’s quiet while Taylor rents fishing gear from the concierge, and asks for directions to a good place to fish, and he stays quiet on the walk to the lake. Taylor doesn’t seem especially bothered by it, chattering a bit and otherwise just matching pace with Jordan, the backs of their hands brushing every few steps. 

“Taylor,” Jordan says quietly, after they’ve set up their rods. 

“Yeah?” Taylor’s smiling at him, small but genuine. Jordan considers, for a split second, not marrying him, and his stomach twists horribly. It didn’t take him very long to get attached to the idea, apparently. 

“You know,” he says cautiously. “If we get married, it’s going to be a big deal. Not, um, not just to us, but—”

“I know,” Taylor says, and he sounds so— _sure_. Maybe this wasn’t all a whim; maybe this is something he’s thought about before. 

“As long as you’re sure,” Jordan says, because he can’t just not, even if it couldn’t possibly be enough to make him stop, unless Taylor wanted to. And Taylor’s smiling at him, that big stupid grin he gets when he’s about to do something that’s a terrible idea but will be outrageously fun anyway. Jordan’s always been completely incapable of saying no to that smile, and this time is no exception. 

There’s a moment where he thinks Taylor might kiss him—it would be reckless but probably worth it—but he just laces their fingers together. Jordan leans in just enough to knock their shoulders together, and it feels like a thousand times they’ve done this—in the kitchen of their apartment, before games in their pads, when Taylor found out he was going to have to have surgery. Just something they do, comforting and familiar. 

Their conversation drifts back to Taylor’s family being weird, and they don’t talk about the risks they’re taking again.

\--

Jordan’s a little horrified at how easy it is to arrange to get married. Maybe it’s because it’s such an industry in Banff but he just asks a few questions at the front desk of the hotel and they’re off to the registry to get a license. The clerk is a young Australian woman who’s mostly polite but seems vaguely annoyed that they’ve come in just before noon. They scramble to get everything done as quickly as possible, so that she’ll stop checking her phone pointedly.

Luckily, it doesn’t take too long and then—well, then they have a marriage license and a handful of other forms, and instructions that they have 90 days to get married. 

As soon as they’re outside the registry, Taylor grins at him, as big as his smile when they won their first NHL game together. The first time it felt like the two of them against the world could be something lasting and stable. 

It’s a few days before they manage to get everything else arranged, but there’s plenty to do, and honestly, it’s nice to be with Taylor in a place so full of tourists that no one even looks twice at them. They fish some more, and play a few games of golf, and buy a lot of pay-per-view movies that they end up not watching all the way through because they’re distracted by each other. And every so often Jordan will remember that they’re going to get married, and it takes him the better part of an hour to stop smiling. 

The day before their appointment with the clerk, Taylor drags him out of bed—admittedly late in the morning—because he says they need rings if they’re going to get married. Jordan agrees with him, even if he grumbles about having to put on pants. 

There’s not much in the way of jewelry stores in Banff, and neither of them knows much about buying rings anyway, but they manage to get two plain gold bands that match. They’re kind of cheap, and Jordan thinks that his mom will probably insist they get nicer ones when she sees them but, well. As something to slide onto Taylor’s finger that’ll mean “you’re my husband,” it’ll work. The salesman, skinny and balding and too-enthusiastic, asks them if they’d like to get the rings engraved, but neither of them can think of anything appropriate. 

“What about ‘dumb pigeons’?” Taylor hisses into his ear, which sets Jordan off giggling horribly, and the salesman is looking at them like he thinks that they’re screwing around with him instead of actually there to buy jewelry. Before he can get angry, Jordan pulls Taylor’s wallet out of his back pocket and hands over the credit card. Taylor raises his eyebrows, and Jordan gives him a pointed look, trying to convey with his eyes that “Hall” is a less recognizable name than “Eberle.” He’s not sure it works, but he can’t really say anything out loud either. 

They pay for the rings quickly and nearly run out of the store. Outside, on a deserted back street, they end up clinging to each other’s shoulders and laughing more. Jordan doesn’t know why it hit him as so funny, but all he can think about is what Whits’ face would look like if they told him that their wedding rings were engraved with something he called them when they annoyed him. 

It twinges a little, when Jordan remembers that Whits almost certainly isn’t coming back, but it’s easy to keep laughing when Taylor’s face is pressed into his neck, tickling him with stubble. 

“You need to shave,” Jordan says, pushing Taylor away and making a face. 

“Ebby,” Taylor says, the nickname drawn into a familiar whine. “We’re on vacation.” He tucks his face back into Jordan’s neck, and Jordan winds an arm around his waist purely out of habit. 

“I’m not marrying you unless I can kiss you without beard burn,” Jordan says, even though he doesn’t mean it at all. 

“You would,” Taylor mumbles into his neck. 

Jordan can’t actually bring himself to say “try me” because it’s a laughably empty threat. “Come on,” he says instead, pushing Taylor away gently. “Let’s get some lunch.”

\--

Taylor takes it as a personal challenge to grow as much facial hair as possible in the two and a half days between when Jordan says that and the morning they’re going to get married. It’s not enough time for him to grow anything resembling an actual beard, but by the morning of their wedding—god, _their wedding_ —he’s starting to look a bit like a mountain man, and Jordan really doesn’t want to kiss him. Taylor leans in anyway, sleepy-eyed and moving on habit. Jordan pushes him away before their lips meet and kisses him on the forehead instead. 

“Not until you shave,” he says, but then Taylor pouts and it’s _really hard_ not to duck back down to suck at his lower lip. Taylor grins like he knows exactly what Jordan is thinking. He probably does.

Neither of them has a suit with them, and since there’s not going to be anyone there they need to impress, Jordan just digs a clean pair of jeans out of his suitcase, and finds a polo shirt that isn’t too wrinkled. He sets the rings on top of his clothes so that he won’t forget them after he showers, and then follows Taylor into the bathroom. 

Taylor is actually shaving, for the first time in several days, and Jordan—well, he sits down on the toilet seat to watch, which sounds a little creepy in his head but he’s allowed to like looking at his fiancé, right? 

Taylor shaves carefully but manages to nick himself a couple of times anyway, once on the cheek and once underneath his chin. Jordan reaches up to press his thumb to the tiny drop of blood that’s gathering under Taylor’s chin. He can see Taylor’s breath catch at the touch, before Jordan takes his hand away and Taylor carefully finishes shaving. He manages to not draw any more blood, which is kind of a relief, and even manages to stop the bleeding without any horrible scabs. 

As nice as it is to watch Taylor, Jordan drags himself into the shower. He can feel Taylor’s eyes on him as he gets undressed, and he’s only been in the shower for a minute or two when there’s a gust of cold air from the curtain being pulled back, and Taylor gets in behind him. Jordan hums when Taylor rests his hands on his back, and Taylor presses a kiss to his neck. 

When Taylor’s hands start creeping around toward his stomach, Jordan pushes them away. “Later,” he says, craning his neck to kiss the side of Taylor’s face. He probably has a dumb smile plastered across his face because he just realized that today, later means “when we’re married,” but it’s difficult to care. Taylor’s smiling too, and he nods, taking a step back from Jordan. 

“Later,” Taylor agrees, smiling filthily at Jordan. He bites his lip and glances down and—that’s dirty pool. Jordan spins all the way around, pushes Taylor against the wall of the shower and kisses him hard and a little filthy. By the time Jordan pulls away, Taylor’s flushed and breathing hard. Jordan gets out of the shower—he’s clean enough, even without washing his hair—and leaves Taylor leaning against the tile, looking confused and debauched. 

“I’ll make it up to you tonight,” Jordan says, grabbing a towel and leaving the bathroom. If he stays any longer, he’s not going to be able to wait until tonight. 

\--

The commissioner arranged witnesses for them—it cost a little extra, but there are two pleasant-enough looking women sitting in the corner of the room, which looks like an office. They introduce themselves as Sheila and Caitlin, and say that they’re friends of the commissioner’s. Neither Jordan nor Taylor bothered to write any vows, though when the commissioner asks, Jordan suddenly wishes he had. It’s too late now, and probably for the best that no one has to listen to him struggle to articulate what Taylor actually means to him. 

It’s all surprisingly quick. The commissioner talks a bit, and they repeat after him dutifully, and everyone signs the license, and then they’re sliding rings onto each other’s fingers. Almost before the final words are out of the commissioner’s mouth, Taylor’s leaning in and sealing his lips to Jordan’s and—god, Jordan never wants to stop kissing him. He can feel Taylor’s ring where Taylor’s hand is resting against his neck, the metal cold and slick against his skin, and he winds an arm around Taylor’s waist to pull him closer. 

They break apart before there’s any tongue involved, though it’s a near thing. Sheila looks faintly embarrassed, but Jordan’s too busy smiling at Taylor to be especially bothered. At least Taylor also has a dumb grin plastered across his face while he pays the commissioner and thanks him for doing it on such short notice. 

Jordan laces the fingers of his right hand through Taylor’s left, focusing on the cool touch of the ring—the ring he put there. The ring that means Taylor is married _to him_. 

He has no idea how people go to huge parties with all their friends right after getting married, because right now all he wants to do shove Taylor onto a bed and kiss him until their mouths are sore and—and. And everything else that they can possibly do without having to leave the bed, really. 

As soon as everything is settled and they’ve thanked everyone and been congratulated, when they’re standing in the hallway outside the office, Taylor leans over and whispers, “Is this enough later?” He’s smiling, Jordan can feel the curve of his lips where they’re moving against his ear, but he’s squeezing Jordan’s hand too tight and his voice is a little desperate. 

“God yes,” Jordan says, squeezing Taylor’s hand back. The ring isn’t cold anymore, warmed by their skin, but it feels so substantial that Jordan can’t stop noticing it. 

Taylor basically drags him out of the building, not that Jordan’s protesting. 

\--

They make it back to their hotel room, but only just. As soon as they’re inside, Taylor spins around and presses Jordan into the door. It slams shut behind them and then Taylor’s kissing him, hard and sloppy and intense. Jordan’s head hits the door and he doesn’t care, because Taylor’s tugging at his lower lip with his teeth and his hand is wound around Jordan’s waist, crushing them together. 

He moans into the kiss, shoving weakly at Taylor. Jordan has—he has plans. It’s hard to remember them when Taylor’s pressing him against the door so close that Jordan can feel his hard-on, but he definitely has some. They involve a bed, and being naked, and probably getting off at least twice. More if they can manage it. 

Jordan pushes at Taylor’s shoulders again, and Taylor goes this time, breaking the kiss just long enough that Jordan can gasp “bed” against his lips. Taylor groans, backing up more quickly and dragging Jordan with him. 

They tumble messily onto the bed, ending up with Taylor straddling Jordan’s hips and staring down at him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. It sounds reverent in a way that Taylor rarely does. He laces the fingers of his right hand through Jordan’s left, squeezing enough that Jordan can feel his ring press into his skin. It shouldn’t be hot, it’s just a band of metal, but somehow it feels like Taylor’s claiming him. Only in a less creepy, totally legal way. 

Jordan gives up the train of thought completely when Taylor leans down and kisses him again. 

They generally lean more towards messy blowjobs and frantic handjobs and rubbing off against each other than anything else, because of hockey and impatience and _Taylor’s mouth_ and Taylor’s pretty obvious thing for Jordan’s hands. But Taylor’s pressing his ass against Jordan’s dick through their clothes and—

“Fuck,” Jordan hisses when Taylor rocks his hips. “Do we have any lube?” It would be like them not to, to have figured they could get by with lotion and spit for a few days, but Jordan just really wants to fuck Taylor properly, until he’s flushed and begging. 

Taylor nods, shaky and visibly unfocused already. He’s rocking back and forth and making small noises in his throat. “It’s—it’s in my bag. Somewhere.” 

Jordan groans, louder than he means to, and Taylor scrambles off him with a quick kiss. Flopping back, Jordan presses the heel of his hand to his dick to relieve the pressure a bit, and then strips off his shirt and pants as fast as he can. 

Over by his suitcase, Taylor makes a small noise of triumph, and then he’s flinging himself back on the bed. And unfortunately he’s still fully clothed, which sucks because Jordan really wants his hands on Taylor’s ass. And arms. And basically everywhere. Luckily, he gets with the program quickly and Jordan’s staring at the smooth expanse of his abs as he strips. 

Taylor’s always been ridiculously fit, for as long as Jordan can remember, and he’s never seemed to have to work at it as hard as Jordan. Like, they’ll work out the same amount and Taylor will have a six pack and Jordan—won’t. Not that it matters, really, except that it’s nice to stare at. It doesn’t count as perving if it’s your boy— _husband_ , fuck—and he’s stripping for you so. Jordan lets himself stare as Taylor takes off his pants and underwear, his cock springing free, already mostly hard and a little red.

Smirking a little, Taylor says, “Enjoying the view?” and that’s just so ridiculous that Jordan has to kiss him. They tumble to the mattress, this time with Jordan straddling Taylor’s hips and pitching forward to continue the kiss. It’s so hard to stop kissing him, but Jordan does it in the name of working down Taylor’s chest, kissing and licking and marking him up just a bit. Taylor’s hand is in his hair—it’s his left one, Jordan can feel the slight coolness of the ring against his scalp.

It’s probably weird that he’s so hyper-aware of the rings they’re wearing, that his pulse jumps a little every time he notices them but—they’re fucking _married_ and it’s incredible and Jordan wants to touch every inch of Taylor’s body and also fuck him through the mattress. 

He settles for sucking a dark bruise into the skin just above Taylor’s hip, worrying at it until Taylor’s hissing his name and pulling at his hair. When Jordan looks up, Taylor’s eyes are dark and he looks completely gone. 

“Fuck,” he says, and god, his voice is rough even though all they’ve done is kissing and dry humping. “Ebby, are you going to,” he says, but his voice breaks when Jordan licks across one of his nipples. Jordan has to take a deep breath, because it’s—no one else calls him Ebby, that’s always been Taylor’s nickname for him and he—he loves Taylor a lot. 

“Please, can you fuck me?” Taylor says. Jordan thinks he might forget his own name for a minute. 

“Yes,” Jordan chokes out, trying not to look too ridiculous when he flails around looking for the lube. 

Eventually, his hand hits the small bottle. He’s not exactly coordinated as he opens it, but then, Taylor’s jerking himself slowly and that’s really difficult to look away from. He manages to slick up a few fingers, though, and tries to remember how to breathe when Taylor spreads his legs expectantly. 

Taylor’s still jerking himself, too slow for him to get off but mesmerizing anyway. Jordan forces himself to look away so that he can work his first finger in slowly. They do this so infrequently and Taylor’s so hot around his finger and—Jordan takes a deep breath and presses his free hand to his dick through his briefs. 

Taylor makes a low noise when Jordan starts moving his finger, just in slow, gentle thrusts. “More,” he says, his eyes fluttering shut when Jordan obliges. 

It’s hard not to think about what this is going to feel like around his dick, as hard as Jordan tries to focus on working his fingers in and out. Taylor’s getting more vocal, soft whimpers and gasps and quiet keening noises when Jordan crooks his fingers a little. 

Jordan just keeps going, adding a third finger eventually and watching Taylor’s reactions until he’s writhing, pushing back into it, begging Jordan for more. 

“God,” Jordan says, because Taylor’s bitten his lower lip raw and his abs are shaking. “Do—condom, where’s a condom?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Taylor says, sounding probably as petulant as it’s possible to sound while that turned on. “Just fucking do it, it’s not like we’re sleeping with anyone else.”

Jordan has to take another deep, steadying breath. Right. “I don’t, I mean, I’m clean?” he says, a little hesitant, and Taylor nods. 

“Same,” he says. “There hasn’t been anyone else since,” he trails off for a moment, his cheeks going red even after the flush of sex. “Since World Juniors?”

 _Oh_ , Jordan thinks with blinding clarity, and then he’s smashing his mouth to Taylor’s, so hard their teeth clash momentarily. The angles are all terrible, with his fingers in Taylor’s ass and trying to kiss him anyway but he _doesn’t care_ , he can’t react to that any other way. 

“I love you,” he mumbles into Taylor’s mouth. 

Taylor’s response is prompt and so purely him that Jordan nearly laughs. “Well then _prove_ it.”

Jordan does, after one last kiss that lingers a bit. He slicks himself up and pushes in slowly, watching Taylor’s face closely. After a brief moment of tension, his features go blissfully slack and Jordan is unable to look away. Taylor’s eyes are closed and he’s biting his lip again, cheeks red and hair sticking to his forehead. 

He’s vocal as Jordan fucks him slowly, gasping and begging incoherently when Jordan changes the angle. Looking down at him, all Jordan can think is that Taylor his _his_ , that he’s made him like his—gasping, fucking back against Jordan, eyes dark and unfocused. It’s pretty incredible. 

Jordan keeps the pace slow, because he doesn’t want to lose the ability to focus on Taylor’s face, doesn’t want to have to break eye contact. He works a hand around to Taylor’s dick and laces their fingers together around it. Neither of them is at all coordinated but Taylor doesn’t seem to care and Jordan definitely doesn’t; what they’re doing is more than enough. 

When Taylor comes, groaning and tensing, Jordan fucks him through it, until he makes a soft noise of protest at the overstimulation. He makes a similar noise when Jordan pulls out, because apparently this is a no-win situation, except for how it’s obviously win-win because it’s him and Taylor together and there’s nothing quite like that in the world. 

It’s a surprise when he feels Taylor’s hand on his dick, and that alone is nearly enough to send him over the edge. As it is, it only takes Taylor a few sloppy strokes before Jordan’s coming all over his stomach and flopping onto the bed next to him. His face is pressed into Taylor’s shoulder, and he can barely see the gesture Taylor makes toward his stomach as he says, “We should, uh, clean up.”

“Don’t wanna move,” Jordan mumbles, and Taylor pushes at him. 

“You got your jizz all over me, you can clean it up.”

Jordan wrinkles his nose, though he supposes Taylor can’t see that. “Afterglow,” he says, not bothering to explain any further. 

“I don’t wanna be all itchy,” Taylor whines, pushing weakly at him again. 

Jordan does eventually get up and get Taylor a washcloth from the bathroom. It ends up thrown onto the floor when Jordan gets distracted by Taylor’s dick halfway through cleaning him up, but he gets the rest with his tongue. And then Taylor gives him a spectacular blowjob, and he returns the favor.

As wedding nights go—well, afternoons, really—Jordan can’t imagine anything nicer. 

\--

When he wakes up the next morning, he has an arm thrown around Taylor’s waist and their fingers are tangled together. 

For all his good intentions, he doesn’t manage anything more than a shower, because Taylor joins him and as soon as they’re passably clean, they fall back into bed. This is why people go on honeymoons, Jordan thinks as Taylor kisses him. For whatever reason, getting married makes it impossible for them to keep their hands off each other. 

They get room service for breakfast, and then again for lunch, and they nearly sleep through the reservations that Jordan makes for dinner in order to force them to put on pants and be exposed to daylight. Taylor whines about the pants but at least the food is good.

Besides, it’s not like they don’t end up back in bed as soon as they’re through the door. They exchange lazy handjobs and messy kisses, and then Taylor forces him to buy Battleship on pay-per-view. It’s terrible, and Jordan falls asleep in the middle despite the huge explosions. He half wakes up when Taylor gets them under the covers, just enough to notice that Taylor kisses his shoulder before curling up against him. 

\--

The next day, they do manage to get their hands off each other long enough to go golfing and eat more meals that aren’t room service than ones that are, but that’s about all that can be said. 

On the whole, their last few days in Banff are a lot like the first few, except that it’s a hell of a lot harder to keep his hands off Taylor in public. No one is bothering them, and Jordan’s feeling a little reckless, so he keeps his ring on.

Honestly, wearing wedding rings in public probably isn’t the most reckless thing they do. That distinction goes to the afternoon they spend hiking, kissing behind trees and springing apart every time they hear footsteps. It feels a lot like being a teenager, afraid of getting caught making out on the sofa. 

They haven’t actually been gone all that long, but everything here feels disconnected, like they’re somehow apart from everything that happens in Edmonton and Calgary and Kingston. At first, it was freeing—Jordan never has to justify himself to Taylor—but now it’s starting to feel strange. 

He falls asleep thinking of all the things he needs to do this summer, and the reasons he shouldn’t—and doesn’t want to—blow them off. 

\--

“I have a thing in Edmonton in three days,” Jordan says, first thing one morning. Taylor’s doing something on his phone, but he looks up with a smile.

“Okay,” he says. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“If you want to.” Jordan pauses, realizing that wasn’t exactly helpful. “It’s a kids’ skating thing for charity.” 

“I’ll come,” Taylor says, turning back to his phone with a faint smile on his face. 

After a long spell of making out that doesn’t go any further, they pack and check out of the hotel. The drive back to Calgary is quiet, but Taylor also barely lets go of his hand the whole way. There’s no one home when they get back—unsurprising, given that it’s the middle of the day—and they’re both passed out on the couch when Jordan’s mom gets home. She has a shopping bag in one hand and she’s kind of staring at them. 

It’s a little disconcerting, since they’re not doing anything out of the ordinary. Taylor’s head is resting on Jordan’s shoulder, and he’s still out. His hand is resting lightly on Jordan’s leg— _oh_. 

Jordan shrugs, apologetic. “Surprise?”

His mom claps her free hand over her mouth, and looks at Jordan a lot like she did when he got drafted. On his shoulder, Taylor shifts, mumbling “What’s happening?” into his neck; Jordan nudges him to get him to wake up properly. Not that it really works, but at least he tried. 

“I can’t believe you two,” his mom says, laughing a little now. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though.” 

Then she disappears into the kitchen to put the groceries up, leaving Jordan to deal with Taylor blinking up at him and frowning. 

“So Mom knows,” Jordan says, and Taylor shrugs. 

“Cool.” 

Then he puts his head back down on Jordan’s shoulder and goes to sleep again. Lazy fuck. 

\--

Jordan’s parents insist on taking them out to a nice dinner as a celebration-slash-wedding present. They even make them put on suits, and his mom buys them a set of pans with clasps on the side, insisting that if they’re not going to have a real wedding, they should at least have to find something to do with the useless presents. She tells them they’re springform pans, which Jordan has definitely heard of but has no idea what to do with.

“We could just throw them out,” Taylor says, luckily on the right side of the line between mean and teasing. 

Jordan’s mom clutches her heart and fakes a look of horror. “I would be so hurt!” she says, barely managing to keep a straight face. 

“Learn to make cheesecake?” Whitney suggests, with a grin that implies she thinks they’ll probably burn their house down in the process. 

“Maybe we will,” Taylor says, all petulance and stubbornness. “We could totally make cheesecake.” 

Whitney makes an admirable attempt to keep a straight face, and Jordan smacks her in the arm. Their mom raises her eyebrows at them while Taylor tries to stifle his giggles. A few years ago, this would probably have ended with Jordan and Whitney trying to discreetly kick each other under the table, but it’s hard to summon that much bitterness when she’s right about their cooking skills anyway. 

Besides, it’s way less trouble to smile at Taylor and fake a casual stretch that ends with his arm resting on the back of Taylor’s chair. 

“You really don’t have to put the moves on him, bro,” Dustin says, just a hair too loud. “Pretty sure being married makes him a sure thing.” 

Jordan maybe blushes a little, but he hopes that the dimly lit fancy restaurant hides it. 

“I’m totally a sure thing,” Taylor whispers when the conversation picks up without them. Jordan has to swallow hard and remind himself sternly that he’s out to dinner with his whole family, that he can’t just drag Taylor to the bathroom for mutual blowjobs. 

The rest of the dinner goes as smoothly as can be expected. Fooling around in his parents’ house that night feels a little weird and a lot high school, even now, but it’s hard to resist Taylor starfished on the bed in boxers and a Pats t-shirt that’s a bit too short on him. 

Jordan’s pretty attached to the t-shirt but he’s even more attached to jerking Taylor off with it pulling when his shoulders strain, and he’s willing to accept some come stains across the front in exchange for that. 

He does make Taylor change shirts for breakfast the next morning, though. Some lines shouldn’t be crossed.

\--

It’s almost weird to get back in the car with Taylor, especially since now they have a clear destination in mind. They’re making the exact same drive to Edmonton, but this time they’re stopping there. Jordan’s not sure if he’s sad or not—driving around aimlessly with Taylor is great, but he loves Edmonton and the stuff they do there as well. 

Regardless, they spend most of the drive singing along too loud to the radio and grinning at each other when they mess the lyrics up—which is more or less what they did last time they made this drive.

They take their rings off in the parking lot at Rexall, because there’s probably a time limit on their secrecy but there’s no reason to blow it intentionally. Jordan puts his in his wallet, and Taylor slips his into his pants pocket.

There’s not actually anything for Taylor to do while Jordan and Horc and Schultzy skate around with a bunch of kids, so he sits in the stands and alternates between messing around on his phone—he must have some new game, it’s basically been glued to his hand—and cheering obnoxiously for Jordan. 

During the skate, it’s easy to keep from fiddling with his bare ring finger, but only because of his gloves. He knows he shouldn’t draw attention to it, especially with a bit of a ring tan already, but when Horc insists on taking them to lunch afterward, he’s left shoving his hands into his pockets to stop himself. 

Horc’s eyes keep catching on where Taylor’s fiddling with his ring finger. Jordan elbows him to try to get him to stop, but he doesn’t seem to catch on. Or maybe he doesn’t notice he’s doing it. Regardless, Taylor doesn’t stop until their food is delivered and he needs both hands to eat his burger. 

Before Jordan thinks about what he’s doing, he steals a few of Taylor’s fries. And then, while he’s realizing he probably shouldn’t have done that, Taylor reaches over and takes a few bites of his pasta right out of the bowl. Horc and Schultzy stop their conversation about some place they both like to fish to stare at them. 

“Um,” Horc says, trailing off and looking a little uncomfortable. Maybe they should have been more subtle if they didn’t want to have this conversation. Horc’s always enjoyed chirping them for being weird about each other, but it’s never really occurred to Jordan before that he might know more than he lets on, when he’s looking at them like he knows exactly what’s up. 

“So,” Schultzy says, “Have you guys seen the new Superman movie yet?”

Taylor immediately starts babbling about it, and thankfully the tense moment passes. 

The rest of lunch is uneventful, even if Horc keeps looking at them weirdly. Jordan catches a few odd glances from Schultzy, too—not nearly as many but enough for Jordan to think he might be suspicious. 

Afterward, in the parking lot, Horc corners them against Jordan’s truck and stares them down. He’s not a very intimidating guy, especially not after Jordan’s seen him playing with his kids, but he clearly means business. 

“What’s going on with you two?” he asks, calm but clearly in no-bullshit captain mode. 

Jordan glances at Taylor, who looks so obviously guilty he’s surprised Horc isn’t asking them where the body is. Horc, on the other hand, is looking at them like they’re his kids and he’s about to put them in time out. “For fuck’s sake,” he says. “Just tell me.”

“We got married,” Taylor blurts out, before Jordan can even _start_ trying to think of a plausible lie. 

There’s a long silence before Horc says anything.

“It was to each other, right?” he finally asks, speaking cautiously. Jordan nods. “Good,” Horc says, and then, “Congratulations, boys.” He pats each of them on the shoulder, a little awkwardly. 

“Thanks,” Jordan says. Taylor still looks guilty, and the smile he forces doesn’t make him look any less like he killed someone. At least he’s trying? 

“You’re going to have an interesting few months,” Horc says, and Jordan cringes. “But you should be able to handle it.”

Jordan’s not looking, but he feels Taylor lace their fingers together. Suddenly, the thought of facing down whatever gets thrown at them doesn’t seem so bad. He smiles at Horc, and Horc laughs. “You’re going to be even more sickening now, aren’t you?”

Jordan gives his best shit-eating grin. “Of course not.” 

Horc turns and walks away, flipping them off as he does. “Tell the front office before they find out from the Sun!” he yells from next to his car. 

“Fine!” Taylor yells back. 

“We should probably tell your parents before _they_ find out from the Sun,” Jordan says, and Taylor laughs. 

“I guess.” 

Jordan pushes him into the car, still laughing. 

\--

They call Taylor’s parents when they get back to Calgary. It takes a while to convince them to get on Skype, and when they finally manage it, Taylor’s mom looks worried. She immediately asks if them anything is wrong and Taylor rushes to assure her that they’re both fine, everything is fine. 

“We got married,” Taylor says, once he’s persuaded his parents that nothing is wrong with either of them. 

Taylor’s parents smile, but don’t look nearly as shocked as Jordan expected them to, since he doesn’t think Taylor said anything about them being together. 

“Congratulations,” Mr. Hall says, and Jordan will admit to being a little touched when he adds, “to both of you. You’ll be very happy.” He knows that, of course, because just looking at Taylor and thinking that they’re married makes his heart feel too big for his chest, but it’s nice that other people have noticed. 

“Thanks,” Taylor says, even though he looks a little grumpy that they weren’t surprised. 

Jordan bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too hard at Taylor’s little pout. He doesn’t want to show how cute he thinks it is, because Taylor will totally abuse it—he already exploits Jordan’s weakness for his mouth and how easy Jordan is after Taylor scores. 

“What would you boys like as a present?” Mrs. Hall asks, jerking Jordan out of his thoughts. 

Taylor smiles sheepishly, like a kid whose mom is trying to fix his hair on the first day of school, and protests that they really don’t need anything. But she insists, so they smile at each other and accept her terms that if they don’t ask for anything, she’ll just get them whatever she thinks they need. 

Everyone is smiling when they end the call, and the Halls have congratulated them about fifteen more times, and insisted that Jordan call them Steve and Kim at least as many. Taylor’s fingers are laced through Jordan’s out of sight of the camera. 

That night, they curl up in Jordan’s slightly-too-small bed; there’s no point in pretending they’re not sharing anymore, not now that they’re married. It still makes Jordan’s stomach curl happily every time he thinks it—they’re _married_. It sounds so secure, so permanent. 

He kisses Taylor, perfunctory, and Taylor kisses him back with intent, his tongue sweeping into Jordan’s mouth and his hand slipping under Jordan’s t-shirt. Jordan pushes him away after a long moment, which causes Taylor to whine quietly. 

“Not with my parents in the other room,” Jordan hisses. “It’s too weird.”

Taylor frowns. “We did the other night.”

“Not again,” Jordan says. 

“Fine,” Taylor says. He presses one last quick kiss to the corner of Jordan’s mouth and then scrunches up enough to rest his head on Jordan’s shoulder. His left hand is splayed on Jordan’s chest, a little possessive despite them being alone, and Jordan reaches to trace the shape of his fingers. 

“I love you,” Taylor says, barely audible. “I’m glad we got married.”

“Me too,” Jordan says, kissing Taylor’s forehead. “Me too.”


End file.
